


Flexibility

by Kerink



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale has a vulva, Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Car Sex, Cunnilingus, Established Relationship, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Top Crowley (Good Omens), Vaginal Sex, Weird Biology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-27 10:35:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19789105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kerink/pseuds/Kerink
Summary: It had been Crowley’s idea to pull off behind the For Sale house sitting alone on some large plot of land on the road from Tadfield to London. And, it had Crowley’s idea to clamber into the backseat for a quick snog (which Aziraphale knew to be code for: quick fuck, but oh don’t give me that look, angel, I minded my manners with that book girl, don’t you think I should get a reward). Therefore, Aziraphale reasoned, the more aggravating bits of trying to make love in a car the backseat of which could barely fit two vertically and was now being asked to fit two horizontally would be left entirely up to the demon.





	Flexibility

Before this moment Aziraphale had never known just how malleable the human body was. Of course, he was fully aware of how _resilient_ they were, that while the body was still growing it would bounce more than anything. The knowledge that humans could take a hit with little encumbrance and heal rather quickly was something he’d picked up almost as soon as Adam and Eve had left his shadow. And while, Aziraphale was keen to remind himself, his corporeal form was only a facsimile, it was modeled after the human form.

So while he was surprised at how he could twist and bend, the emotion was fleeting. 

While in this form he’d done very little other than eat and read and dance and travel. He’d spent the greater majority of the past 6,000 years sitting. Walking casually had encompassed the second largest portion of his activity, followed very closely by standing-while-doing-nothing-in-particular. Any bending or twisting he may have done in his lifetime had been done Before-before. Before Armagedidn’thappen, before the Bentley, before Crowley, before humans, before corporeal forms, and long before the Earth. 

In fact, the last time Aziraphale remembered doing anything substantial had been during Lucifer’s uprising, and the form he’d been in during that was nothing near what it was now. The Almighty hadn’t even worked out this general starfished shape yet. Let alone limbs, let alone only _four_ limbs. Let alone bellies and clothing and pocket watches and leather backseats of antique cars. 

Unless, of course, one counted the gavotte. Or perhaps the few scattered swordfights he hadn’t been able to miracle himself out of before humans decided to do away with honor codes. Aziraphale didn’t count those, in fact he often forgot they’d even happened. 

Well, not the gavotte. Aziraphale remembered that as he rather liked it and missed it dearly. It was a simple forward, backwards, half turn, twirl around, right foot kick— 

“Angel, can you not put the window out.” A beat. “Please.” Said like it hurt him. Maybe it did. 

Crowley propped himself up over Aziraphale, a hand running through his mussed hair, glasses abandoned somewhere on the floorboard. 

“My apologies,” Aziraphale said sheepishly. 

“Felt that good huh?” Crowley smirked around wet, bruised lips and Aziraphale’s chest bloomed with heat. 

“It was lovely.” He pulled the demon down for a kiss; the fresh hickey on his neck stung as his collar brushed it but that was fine, that was fine. It would all be fine as long as Crowley’s hands kept ghosting up his body, smoothing out the wrinkles of where his shirt was half undone, teasing the bits of him that were exposed. Aziraphale gasped as Crowley returned to kissing, nipping, licking his way across his neck and collar and chest. He pulled his legs away from the window, lest he jerk again at some sudden sensation and ruin the mood via broken glass and a quick medical miracle. Instead, he squeezed his thighs tightly around Crowley’s waist, dragging the demon in closer, angling them so that any jerky bucks would. Well. Be productive. 

“Darling,” he whined desperately. 

Crowley muttered something that was perhaps “Right, on it” but may also have been a meaningless grunt of arousal and agreement and propped himself back up again. Hunched as he was against the roof of the Bentley, Aziraphale was impressed with the speed at which he did away with his own Tee and Aziraphale’s waistcoat, the clothing dropped to the floorboard to join their long-forgotten coats. His fingers fumbled at the buttons of Aziraphale’s starched, penultimate top layer, and while Aziraphale took pity on him he did nothing to assist. 

It had been Crowley’s idea to pull off behind the For Sale house sitting alone on some large plot of land on the road from Tadfield to London. And, it had Crowley’s idea to clamber into the backseat for a quick snog (which Aziraphale knew to be code for: quick fuck, but oh don’t give me that look, angel, I minded my manners with that book girl, don’t you think I should get a reward). Therefore, Aziraphale reasoned, the more aggravating bits of trying to make love in a car the backseat of which could barely fit two vertically and was now being asked to fit two horizontally would be left entirely up to the demon. 

Seeds of one’s own destruction and all that. 

Crowley made a second sound that was barely distinguishable (this one somewhere between a victory whoop and an aroused, possessive growl) which indicated he had defeated Aziraphale’s button-down. 

As best he could Aziraphale propped himself up as well, lifting one arm up at a time as Crowley divested him of the garment. While he was there, he tugged up Aziraphale’s undershirt. Crowley was already topless and Aziraphale knew he was getting impatient, based off the heat coming off of him. Not heat of arousal, no that was centrally located between where their waists had slot together. No, the heat coming off Crowley was deep and vicious and sulfurous. He was going to burst out of his skin if he didn’t cool down a bit. 

Between the bottle of wine the two of them had shared at Jasmine Cottage and the battle of the three-piece suit, Crowley must have been very… _Anxious._

“Your scales are showing.” Aziraphale thumbed along Crowley’s cheek where a shimmer of black specks had begun to force their way out. Demons were so much more cramped in their corporeal forms than angels were. All the warts and boils and scales and fangs and miscellaneous animal bits. 

Crowley gripped somewhere between his stomach fat and his hips. “Lay back down,” he said. His teeth were fanging up. “ _Please_ lay back down.” This time he requested it more than demanded it and so Aziraphale obliged, allowing Crowley to work his lower garments off too. Aziraphale’s shoes had been the first to go. Crowley’s boots were still on him. Later he’d be angry at the dirt on the leather. 

“It’s too cramped in here,” he whined, trying to adjust Aziraphale’s lower half to his liking. 

“You were the one who insisted he could not wait until we arrived home.” 

Crowley continued his oral onslaught down Aziraphale’s stomach, biting as gently as one with fangs could at rolls of adipose tissue. His hands were working Aziraphale’s thighs, pushing them up and out and trying in vain to make room for himself between them and the car door. His ass hit the window and he gave up with a frustrated hiss. 

“Can we do this someplace else?” 

“I thought you couldn’t wait.” 

“No I mean out-“ 

“No.” 

“Come on, the picnic blanket’s still in the boot. I could lay it out and-“ 

“I’m not- Crowley, I’m not making love outside, in broad daylight, off a busy road, on someone else’s property.” 

“How’s that different from this?” 

“With how dark you keep the windows-“ 

“Well look, I can’t exactly get down there like this.” The smell of sulfur was getting stronger. It hurt Aziraphale’s nose and he knew turning off his breathing wouldn’t change anything. It wasn’t about lungs, it was about…something else. Something deeper, something primal. The scent of evil, the telltale warning sign that the enemy was nearby and poised to strike. 

Or that one’s lover was about to forget his manners and do with one what he must in order to ease the growing tension inside of him. 

While ordinarily Aziraphale was anything but opposed to that, he did not wish to take this outside. 

“Alright,” he said, sitting up, shifting. Crowley looked as though Aziraphale had just broken his heart. “Get on the floor.” 

Perking up significantly, Crowley did as he was told, sliding down on top of their discarded clothing. It was a good thing, Aziraphale thought, that Crowley was mostly bone and lean muscle. The fit was tight and certainly looked uncomfortable, but human bodies were indeed malleable. 

And then, suddenly, a spike of nerves shot through him. While he was growing increasingly used to Crowley’s oral fixation, they had only been engaging in these activities for a few months. And Crowley had almost always taken the lead. Been in charge. Been assertive. Taking whatever he was permitted. Filling up his Gluttony and Lust quote-unquote-quotas with _his_ angel. 

Being used to Crowley pushing his legs apart and going down on him was one thing. It was entirely another to stirrup himself on the front seats and present his vulva for the demon like a feast. Even when he’d made himself quite comfortable atop Crowley’s face, there’d been little more he needed to do but sit there and allow the demon to shift and adjust him as needed. A bit of rutting on his end, perhaps. But this, doing this, felt so much more… 

In control. 

Much more in control than Aziraphale had felt in ages. Quite possibly more in control than he’d felt since, perhaps, Before-before. When he didn’t have to worry about willy serpents lurking around every corner. When he didn’t have to worry about human souls. When he didn’t have to worry about clandestine meetings. When he didn’t have to worry about dinners and the theater and back to mine for a night caps. Before the threat of Falling was something Aziraphale had to consider every time his heart longed for more than just his duties as a Principality. 

“Angel pleassse,” Crowley whined, nails scratching his hips, trying to drag Aziraphale closer. This was better, this was familiar. Didn’t have to worry or weigh this. “I’m starving here. Dunno what’ll happen t’me if I can’t have you.” He was looking more bestial by the minute, the poor dear. 

Oh how he loved him. Loved him and trusted him. How Crowley made warmth bloom inside of him, made his body feel like Champagne. And how he wished that Crowley’s devotion made him more uncomfortable, made him feel like a bad Angel for wanting and waiting and dreaming of the times Crowley would be back at his feet and savoring every inch of his skin with kisses and marking bites and breathy words of praise and piety. 

That feeling of love, so much stronger and brighter and warmer than the general divine love Aziraphale was made from, was what gave him the courage he needed to sling his legs over the backs of the front seats. Crowley made a choked but interested noise at that, collecting Aziraphale up in his arms and dragging him closer. 

Typically, Crowley did not just dive right in. For all his aggression and impatience, he was a surprisingly gentle and attentive lover. Which Aziraphale appreciated to no end because a part of him still feared that Heaven would decide that enough was enough and consorting with a demon they could ignore but engaging in pleasures of the flesh with one they could not. Moving slowly helped ease that fear. Reminded him that Love was not a sin, even when Lust was attached to it. 

But in his desperation and relief, Crowley dove right in. 

Aziraphale moaned a stuttering moan as Crowley’s tongue (thinner and decidedly more forked than it had been earlier, but not yet so thin and forked that he couldn’t attend to every bit of him) began attending to every bit of him. Licking a stripe up him in gratitude, kissing from his clitoris to his perineum, before licking past his outer lips to nibble and tug at the inner ones. 

“Oh- oh Crowley, dear,” Aziraphale gasped, panting short bursts of sulfurous air, groping behind him to clutch at the backseat. 

Claws dug into his ass as Crowley found his opening, teasing it with flicks of the tip of his tongue and causing Aziraphale to cry out once more. At the same time he reached for Crowley’s hair he felt Crowley reach for his clit, pinching and rolling it with thin, deft fingers. 

Aziraphale was bucking against the demon’s face now, pulling him close by the hair and attempting to crush his skull with his thighs. The latter action made challenging by the fact he was still crooked by the ankles to the front seats. He could feel and hear Crowley snuffling against him, breathing in his scent, made doubly overwhelming by what his tongue could pick up. A tongue that found his internal nerve center and began a relentless assault from both fronts. 

Wonderful Crowley with his wonderful mouth and wonderful fingers. Playing Aziraphale like so many stringed instruments Crowley had picked up and put down over the years. Making the most lovely music with Aziraphale’s mouth. He rut his hips against his lover’s face, chasing those electric shocks. Feeling Crowley drinking him down; he’d commented more than once that Aziraphale was his favorite wine pairing. 

As much as he wanted to orgasm against Crowley’s swollen lips and dangerous, venomous teeth, he knew that neither of them would be satisfied with that alone. And this was meant to be a quicky, after all. So he tugged twice at Crowley’s hair to warn him, not trusting his mouth to communicate anything intelligible. 

Crowley did not remove his face from between Aziraphale’s legs but did remove his hands and Aziraphale could hear him fumbling with his ostentatious belt. The telltale sound of his zip. His sigh of relief as he shuffled his pants down just enough. 

And then Crowley’s hands were on his thighs again, pushing them to Aziraphale’s chest. “Sure you’re ready?” he asked, looming over Aziraphale once more. He was panting already, hissing as his cock brushed against pale, heated skin. 

“Quite.” Azirapahle reached between them, taking Crowley into a tender hold. He hissed as Aziraphale guided him towards his lubricated, loosened entrance. 

Once he was in position, and Aziraphale released him, Crowley began to roll his hips, urging Aziraphale’s body to let him pass. It didn’t take much convincing. 

Aziraphale let out a shaky moan, melting into the seat. The loss of tension allowed Crowley to roll him up more, his knees nearly at his ears. Crowley’s own knees were digging almost painfully into his backside as he sought purchase on the seat’s ledge. But that was manageable, barely noticeable, almost pleasant. It was pleasant to feel wanted, to smell the burn of Crowley’s desperation. For him and only him. 

His heart fluttered. 

“I think you can- If you’re ready. To begin, I mean.” 

Crowley grunted in confirmation. “Right. Just trying to pull myssself back together.” He was close, then. Aziraphale smiled fondly, reaching up to caress his scales. 

And then he began. The number of tentative, adjusting thrusts were few. Aziraphale had been honest about being well and truly ready, and Crowley seemed about ready to boil alive if he didn’t have his way. There were claws sinking into the soft give of his hips, Crowley’s weight cramming Aziraphale up, rolling him into a pliant little ball. 

Aziraphale cried out, scrambling at Crowley’s back. His entire body was thrumming, singing with want for the demon above him. The shouting of his voice, “Darling, darling, Crowley darling” over and over between meaningless, half aborted sweet nothings. The sound of their sex loud and only arousing while Aziraphale was still aroused enough not to care. 

Oh and Crowley, his darling, darling, Crowley. As much dark scale as he was tanned skin by this point, his facial features somewhere between a serpentine muzzle and his corporation. All fangs as he panted, wet an open mouthed, tongue working to take in the smell of him, the smell of _them_. His pace was maddening and selfish. Aziraphale loved it. 

He was becoming increasingly less shy about his attraction to Crowley’s demonic wiles and less savory urges. 

Those clever fingers were on his clitoris again and it sent shocks through Aziraphale’s body, his legs twitching out. He was sure one of them knocked Crowley on the head, but as he arched, pulling the demon in closer and closer still he knew Crowley cared about as little as he did. 

He had been so close before Crowley had filled him properly, but now filled to the brim, Crowley barely withdrawing himself between thrusts, rutting himself against Aziraphale’s cervix more than fucking him, was enough to finally complete him. Aziraphale whined a broken sort of keen, thighs flexing for want to wrap around his demon, but kept in place by Crowley’s strong hands. 

After that Aziraphale lay pliant beneath him, his body felt so heavy and warm. Love was tingling under his skin, unable to be contained. The smile painted across his face sleepy and smitten. Aziraphale loved these moments, where he was sex-dazed and rag-dolled, bouncing along with Crowley’s thrusting, the other chasing his own orgasm, using Aziraphale’s body for his own pleasure. The maddening pace he wouldn’t dare use while worshiping Aziraphale, wouldn’t dream of asking him to derive pleasure from. But oh how he did, how he did. Crowley’s possession. Made for one another. 

Crowley was so beautiful on top of him. And while he’d never say it aloud, he found the cry Crowley let escape him upon his own orgasm charming and impossibly adorable. Even if it wasn’t sexy at all, totally embarrassing and undignified. He was sure if he were still aroused he might not be as aroused, but while he was coming back to his senses, it made him chuckle light and airy. 

They stayed like that while Crowley caught his breath, his corporation slowly stitching itself back together. When Crowley managed to lift his head and catch Aziraphale’s gentle gaze, he was back to the man-shaped-being Aziraphale was unfortunately quite smitten with. 

“Feeling better?” he teased. 

Crowley at least had the decency to look at little ashamed, and it made Aziraphale laugh again before drawing him into a chaste kiss. 

“It was wonderful, darling.” He thumbed along the smooth, clear skin of Crowley’s sharp, high cheekbone. “But do please let me up. My back is killing me.” 

Crowley was off him in a flash, seated on the Bentley’s center console. He did up his trousers, eyes never leaving Aziraphale. The Angel may or may not have put on a little bit of a show of unfurling himself. Aziraphale didn’t miss the bob of his Adam’s apple, the dilation of his pupils. 

Once Crowley was decent enough, he was kicked out of the Bentley. Aziraphale watched in awe at the grace with which he was able to kick those long, skinny legs up enough to turn into the front seat, getting out like everything was normal, like he hadn’t just thoroughly debauched a Principality. 

With Crowley gone, Aziraphale had the room he needed to contort himself back into his clothing. He could have miracle them on just like they could have been miracled off, but since their falling out with Heaven and Hell respectively they’d been trying to keep the miracles to a minimum. Anything to try and get the lot of them to forget they existed. 

That, of course, did not go for miracles necessary to clean away certain bodily fluids so they wouldn’t stain expensive black and antique beige trousers. 

“You can come back in.” Azirpahale exited the back seat, doing up his buttons in the cool late afternoon air. It was starting to get crisp, the leaves on the trees were splatterings of yellow, orange, red. Crowley was underneath one of them, staring up into it with hands on his hips. He was still topless. 

“This tree’d been dead when we pulled up.” 

“Nonsense.” Aziraphale pulled on his waist coat and began doing that up as well. “Trees don’t die in Tadfield.” 

“Outside Tadfield line three kilos back.” 

Finished dressing enough to be considered decent, Aziraphale took his place next to Crowley. He looked up into the tree as well, hands behind his back in a gallery pose. 

“Grass was yellow too.” 

Aziraphale looked down at the plush green carpet tickling his ankles. 

“Now you’re just teasing me,” he harrumphed. 

Crowley shook his head, finally turning to face him. He hadn’t his glasses on and his eyes were like amber. “Nahw. When we go about with stuff like this, I always take notice.” His smile widened as he danced their hips together, arms wrapped around Aziraphale’s waist. “Like to know you really had a good time.” 

And there it was, the hint of uncertainty behind those dazzling gems. Aziraphale frowned, placing his hands on Crowley’s shoulders. They rocked side to side. Aziraphale couldn’t tell if it was flirtatious dancing or Crowley’s nerves. 

“I love you,” Aziraphale said seriously. “I like making love to you.” 

There was pink at the tips of Crowley’s ears. “Yeah… But… Even when I get like that?” 

Aziraphale’s smile was fond, the same fond smile he used on silly children he adored. “Even when you get like that.” 

The tension dropped from Crowley’s shoulders, and Aziraphale gave him another chaste kissed. 

“I love you too,” Crowley said belatedly. Blood flecked on his lips and Crowley licked it away as quickly as he could. Demons weren’t built to say such things. Aziraphale’s heart melted. The bush behind him flowered. 

“Come on,” Azirapahle tutted before he’d find himself on the demon again. Instead he hooked his arm around Crowley’s, dragging him back towards the car. “We need to hurry if we’re to beat the dinner rush at The Ritz.” 

Crowley leaned in, smiling like an alligator. “This mean I have permission to speed?” He opened Aziraphale’s door and the angel plopped into his seat. 

“This means you have permission to go twenty-five kilometers per hour over the speed limit and not a single more.” 

Crowley leaned in. “And no less.” Before firmly shutting the door before Aziraphale could protest.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm also on twitter (kerinky) & tumblr (kerink)


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